This staircase...

This ladder was, somehow, my ascent: to say that it was given hard is to say nothing. Work on it was a torture, a test of patience and endurance, it was necessary to become incredibly resourceful and resourceful to pick up the keys to it. Long months of patience and deprivation, stress and sleepless nights: "How, how to do you?".

After not one decade of work in the classics, but suddenly take, and dive into rusticism, it's like getting on another planet of another galaxy. Everything else: air, thoughts, sensations, time. Perhaps time oppressed most of all. It flew by in the process of work rapidly: weeks as a moment, everything is much faster at times, faster than in the world of planes and straight lines.

Where everything is logical and predictable... And the movement of the work itself went much slower, as in slow-motion movie frames. This new one simply pushed into a hysterical break-all to throw and return to the familiar worlds of the shits, edges and planes. But, the hypnosis of the twisted branches, their enticing whisper and the call of snags, their interrelations proved to be stronger. Six months of work from morning to night, often until eleven or twelve at night, and after midnight, without a weekly weekend. No, this work is not easy, but a permanent solution to puzzles that can not be systematized.

It's just some kind of katorga and flour! And now at last six calendar months behind. And finally finish. It feels like Stalingrad was defended. Yes, yes, such a comparison comes to mind. They defended Stalingrad - they did not run away, they did not abandon us, they did not die out. Such a quiet imperceptible feat is a feat over oneself without blood and noise. Feat in the profession, in the craft. No, I did not create a ladder, but myself. A whole great life...